The Gauntlet
by phaelstya
Summary: Sequel to Coriolis. A new threat looms on the horizon. Someone who wants to harness the power of the Key to bring chaos to the mortal realm, dispatching the Guardian in the process.
1. Life or Something Like It

Previously in my AU Buffyverse: Spike managed to latch on to the tower after Doc tossed him off at the end of "The Gift." He stopped the portal opening by catching Dawn's blood before it reached its target. Every night after that, he was tormented by strange dreams. Giles uncovered a prophecy concerning the event, and Spike became the Key's earthly guardian. In the end, he is transformed. This is a sequel to "Coriolis." Events pick up roughly three months following the epilogue. I would recommend reading the prequel, it's definitely worth it. Of course that's just my humble opinion.  
  
  
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, but baby likes to play. Can you really blame me? So okay, they belong to Joss, ME, and all the levels of hierarchy above that think they can claim ownership. And the chapter title I stole from a movie. Bad me.  
  
  
Author's Note: Sorry this took so long guys, I've gotten sidetracked with other projects. Hopefully there are still a few faithful readers out there who want to see the sequel  
  
  
Feedback: Adored, devoured, desired. phaelstya@insightbb.com  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
*****  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He had always loved the hours just before dawn. The way the air wrapped around him, heavy and pregnant with moisture. Mist blanketing everything, as if the fog could somehow mask the unearthly elements that crept along the shadowed alleyways of Sunnydale. With a weary sigh, Spike let his keys fall on the table beside the door, turning to lock it behind him. Strangely, the night vision had remained following the change, so he didn't bother with the lights as he made his way down the hall to the bathroom. Another day lost unraveling countless pages of prophesies. Another night spent fighting the hordes of demons the Hellmouth attracted. Reaching out to turn the shower on, he realized he was almost thankful for this solitude. The past few years hadn't prepared him for the Scooby onslaught following his transformation. All the time now, people surrounded him, battered him at every front with endless questions. Even after he explained the little he knew about what had happened and the knowledge he'd gained, the others always felt the need to second-guess anything he said to them. Force of habit, he supposed...or hoped. Eventually, Spike knew they would grow to trust his insight, if not him. He stripped and stepped under the warm spray, letting it wash away the grit that always clung to him like a second skin after a night spent patrolling. As they had a tendency to do, his thoughts turned to her.   
  
They had never talked about what had happened that night in the cemetery. She hadn't tried to explain herself. And their relationship, if you could call it that, remained the same. The only thing that proved it wasn't some crazy dream was the blush that had been prominently displayed across her perfect cheeks right up to the time he dropped her off at the front door. Still, the memory of her sweet lips pressed willingly against his was enough for the time being. His little foray into her past had opened his eyes. To win her love, to earn her trust, Spike knew he would have to be patient. So far he had managed to refrain from his characteristic outbursts. Oh, he was frustrated, but things were progressing - slowly. Closing his eyes, he scrubbed blunt fingernails against his scalp and let the water run down his face. When they patrolled alone, like tonight, she was always a bit on edge and tried to cover it up with an excess of rambling nonsense. Like she was nervous. It was...absolutely adorable. With a quiet chuckle, he flicked the faucet off. Draping a towel over his head, he rubbed the excess water from his hair and then let it drop in a soggy pile on the floor. Wet footprints trailed behind him as he padded across the hall to his bedroom.  
  
Though he had never been one for soul-searching, Spike found himself reflecting on all the changes that had crept into his life as he stretched out on the bed. Soon after he had finally adjusted to the differences brought about by his new destiny, Giles hired him - unofficially of course - as a consultant and managed to pry a fairly decent salary from the Council's unyielding fingers. They had no idea he was working for them, but as long as he continued to produce accurate results, the Watchers seemed completely unconcerned with the identity of their mysterious specialist. It allowed him a degree of comfort...four rooms that were completely his, running water, plenty of smokes, cable television, and a bit left over for the food he was once again dependent on for survival. He probably could have lived without it, but Spike had a feeling it would be rather uncomfortable being immortal if he was skin and bones. Home was an apartment above a retail shop downtown, not far from the Magic Box. Though small, it had come partially furnished with large windows and hardwood floors. To his surprise, the watcher had helped him with the security deposit, mumbling something about needing him to be close, just in case.   
  
"At their bloody beck and call," he snorted, punching a pillow in disgust.  
  
It was his duty after all. He ran his fingertips over the tattoo on his palm to remind himself why he was here, why he was helping. For Dawn. For Buffy. For some misguided hope that with all the facts he might be able to help them survive. Exhaustion took over as he slipped underneath the covers, and he was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.  
  
  
  
*****   
  
  
She sat staring into space with her elbows propped on the table at the Magic Box, wrapped in the stench of pungent herbs and sulfur. It assaulted her as if it were a physical presence, a fine tendril of gray smoke slithering across her limbs and sending a shiver up the back of her neck. Giles settled on the bench across the table, snapping his fingers before her eyes, trying to bring her back to focus. With a startled blink, Buffy turned her gaze to the watcher and waited for the word storm she knew was coming.  
  
"Power."  
  
She looked at him, clearly baffled and then shook her head. "Huh?"  
  
"They want it. Jihad with one goal alone. The crux. Wings of flame and fury sent to consume. Earthly legions called to paint the cobbles crimson. To undo what was done."   
  
"Giles, what are you talking about?"  
  
He threaded a large gold coin between his fingers and gave her a conspiratorial wink. "The time has come for all good girls to choose. Which team will you play on, Buffy?"  
  
"Which cause do you fight for?" She spun on her heel to see Willow emerge from the shadows, her hair limp and eyes lifeless, but her skin shone, bolts of blue lightning crawling just underneath the surface.  
  
Buffy heard his voice before she saw him. "You wouldn't get lost on us now, would you Buff?" When she turned, Xander edged away from her, eyes averted, broken, like a puppy that had been kicked one too many times.  
  
She watched as Giles vaulted onto the countertop, still spinning the coin between his fingers like some middle-aged British Godfather, and lay down. "You belong here. You have to know that by now." She looked at him questioningly, and almost chuckled when she heard the exasperated little sigh he gave her in response. In a fluid motion, he flicked the coin her direction, smiling when it hit her palm. Buffy fingered it, flipping it over to find an image - the sun setting behind scarlet clouds - emblazoned on the coin's surface.  
  
"Tick tock, my little lieutenant."  
  
Before her eyes, the images of her friends flickered and faded until all that remained was empty space and a sickening red glow as blood seeped into the light fixtures and trickled down the walls. Buffy started as she felt the warm sticky liquid flow over her toes and pulled her knees up to meet her chin.   
  
"Help?"   
  
When she heard the quiet plea, she spun around to find the source. Spike. His hair, his skin, his clothes were covered in the stuff as if he'd been rolling around in the growing puddles on the floor. Those piercing blue eyes were the only things left untouched.  
  
"Please?" He whimpered, and dark streams slid from the corners of his mouth to coat his chin. Buffy's heart hammered in her chest, and she crawled up on the table, beckoning him towards her. The blood had risen to mid-thigh by now and cascaded from the bookshelves like macabre waterfalls.  
  
"Come here."  
  
Grunting with effort, he tried to close the distance between them, but for every attempt Spike made, he seemed to slip farther away. He caught and held her eyes for an instant before the crimson floods took him completely. Without so much as a ripple, something pulled him under, and he was gone.  
  
  
*****   
  
  
Gasping, Buffy sat straight up in bed, every muscle tense and aching. She tried to tell herself it was just a normal nightmare...the shrimp she had for dinner playing morbid little games with her stomach and somehow infecting her head. Deep down she knew better, but she also realized that if she thought about it now, it would end in another sleepless night. Chilled air greeted her as she threw back the covers and shuffled across the hall to the bathroom for some water. She scowled at her reflection, taking in the dark circles beneath her eyes and the sunken hollows of her cheeks. Sleep had not come easy lately, but then it never really had.   
  
She felt like she was at war with herself. Especially where it concerned the bleached blond vampire...or whatever he was now, who had a starring role in the dream. Every time she was in a room with him, Buffy could feel his eyes on her. And every time, her traitorous body responded. Patrolling with him had become something out of a valley-girl B movie. She filled the space between them with meaningless chatter, hoping she could trust her mouth to avoid those things she wasn't even ready to say to herself, much less out loud. Fear held those feelings hostage, thankfully. But as weeks stretched into months, the stranglehold it had on her brain weakened and she allowed herself to ponder what exactly about it scared her so much.   
  
Loss. She dreaded opening her heart to someone again. Her father left. Angel left. And though she had never given herself over to Riley, he left too. Somewhere inside she felt it was her fault, that her love drove them away. Too little of it, or too much. Grudgingly, she admitted that she liked Spike where he was. Here. Now it seemed even that was in jeopardy, if her dreams were any indication of what was to come. She splashed some water on her face, trying to banish the thoughts from her head, and made her way back across the hall.   
  
When she crawled beneath the covers, her doubts followed, faithful, annoying shadows. Spike was nothing if not persistent. Two years he stayed without even the slightest encouragement. In fact, more than once she had told him to get out of town, but that had only made him cling more fiercely. So, what if she let herself love him? What if that was what it took to send him running? He was a creature caught between worlds, more so than ever now. It wasn't his fault. People naturally gravitate to those like them...and he was drawn to her. Buffy had no delusions anymore about what she did. Call it slaying or divine destiny or whatever, it meant she went out nightly and killed things. Even if it was in the name of some higher purpose, that didn't change the simple fact of the action. While Spike's motivations in his century plus of happy demon-hood had been less than pure, he was in essence a warrior like her. And there was no saving the innocent lives long lost to his hands, so she simply refused to dwell on it. Spike had changed, even before this Guardian business. Remorse caught up with him, and Buffy knew that on many occasions it was that feeling that sent him reeling into sullen silence. With a frustrated growl, she flopped over onto her stomach, hoping to find some solace in sleep.  
  
  
*****   
  
  
Dawn always woke before her sister. Maybe it was the curse of her namesake, but she knew it was probably the fact that Buffy worked hard all day and slayed hard all night, usually creeping up the stairs to bed in the wee hours of the morning. More often than not, it was Spike, of all people, who made sure she got to school on time and in one piece. She actually trusted his driving more than her sister's. As if on cue, she heard a soft rap at the front door and smiled.   
  
"Mornin' Nibblet. You ready?" The smile on Dawn's face turned into a toothy grin when she saw what he was wearing. Her pet project for the past few months had been teaching Spike the value of color, and here he stood in the dark blue long-sleeved tee she picked out for him last week. It really brought out his eyes. But no matter how hard she tried, he wouldn't let go of the black jeans or boots. The guy could be almost as stubborn as Buffy when he wanted to be. And of course the hair was, as always, an unnatural shade of white. At least now he wore it tousled and curly instead of flattening it against his skull like a helmet.   
  
Spike grew uncomfortable under her appraising stare. "What?"  
  
"Oh, nothing." She eyed him once more for good measure. "Let me grab my bag." She hurried into the kitchen to collect her backpack. Upon returning, Dawn found him gone, already down the front walkway and sliding into the driver's seat of the DeSoto.  
  
"Hey! Wait up!" She locked up and scurried across the lawn, rounding the car and throwing herself in the open door on the passenger side. Breathless and giggling she turned to him as he put the car in gear, "You just planning on leaving me here?"  
  
"Got things to do. Don't fancy standing around watching you size me up." His brow furrowed as he looked at her. "Where'd you learn that look anyway, Bit?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
Spike snorted. "I invented it, don't be coy with me. You know what I'm talking about."  
  
"No...I really don't."  
  
Dawn saw his jaw twitch and his knuckles turn white around the steering wheel. "Like you just spotted a choice cut of meat and can't wait to get it home and unwrap it?" She blushed an impossible shade of red.   
  
"Spike, I didn't mean..."  
  
"Maybe you didn't. Maybe you did. I don't bloody well know. What I do know is how dangerous that look is." He pitched his voice low and threatening, hoping it would get the message across. "Don't use it, for any reason." When he met her eyes, they were big as saucers, and he softened his tone. "It could get you eaten, or worse. You're too young."  
  
"Why doesn't anyone get it? I'm not a..."  
  
"Kid anymore?" he finished for her. "Oh, we get it, ducks. Doesn't mean we have to like it. Also doesn't mean that I've suddenly gone deaf, dumb, and blind. I'm always going to protect you. It's in my sodding job description. And that look...it's nothing but trouble."   
  
Dawn crossed her arms over her chest, pouting. Then an evil grin found its way to her lips. It was high time for a subject change.   
  
"So how are things with Buffy?"  
  
She watched the Adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallowed a couple times. "None of your bloody business. Thought I told you to keep your nose out."  
  
"Still Little Miss Lukewarm, huh?" Spike just scowled. "Look, I'm only trying to help, and you know it."  
  
"Well don't."  
  
"Fine."  
  
"Good."  
  
The car screeched to a halt in front of the school as he put a bit too much pressure on the brake pedal.   
  
"We're here."  
  
With a scowl meant to be menacing, Dawn scrambled out of the car, slamming the door behind her for emphasis. Feeling a bit guilty, she turned to wave goodbye, but the DeSoto was already peeling out of the parking lot.   
  
"Be that way," she grumbled at the taillights and made her way up the steps.  
  
  
*****   
  
  
"I wish I could say that I thought it was nothing, but I know better. When my brain starts serving up the weird, cryptic dreams...it usually spells apocalypse." Buffy tugged on the phone cord as she nibbled her lower lip between her teeth feverishly.  
  
"Quite right. I'm glad you told me." Giles removed his glasses, cleaning them on his shirttail and sighed. "But just to be on the safe side, we should keep this between us for the moment. There's no need to worry the others unnecessarily."  
  
"If you think it's best." She didn't know what was best in situations like these, so she left it up to her watcher to decide.  
  
"I do."  
  
Buffy stole a glance at the clock. "Giles, I gotta get to work."  
  
"Yes, of course. Spike should be here any moment."  
  
"You promise to look into it?"  
  
"This very second. Have a good day, Buffy. I hope you'll come by the Magic Box after work."  
  
"I will. Bye Giles."  
  
"Goodbye, Buffy."  
  
  
  
  
TBC 


	2. Something Wicked This Way Comes

Disclaimer: All of Joss's characters belong to him. The ones from my head belong to me.  
  
  
  
  
A steady stream of water dripped between the gaping cracks overhead, gathering in a stagnant puddle on the cement floor. It was cold...the kind of chill that seeps into the bones and takes up residence. The small battery powered lantern did nothing to stave off the darkness, but then these were creatures that thrived on it.   
  
"Uh, Boss?" Ralph croaked, staying well out of range just in case the big guy decided to unleash his barely contained wrath. Between mouthfuls of food, his employer grunted a response.  
  
"How exactly do you plan to get close enough to snatch this key thing?"  
  
Eyes the color of night, red-rimmed and intense, fastened onto the cowering form that hovered between the small circle of lantern-light and the shadows. When a hearty laugh erupted from the hulking beast, Ralph visibly relaxed. Never knew what was going to set the big guy off. Thankfully, the honest question hadn't.  
  
"I...am not going anywhere," he growled. "Why do you think I hired you?"   
  
"To infiltrate and destroy, I'm guessing. It's what I do best."   
  
"Indeed." he grumbled, pushing away the plate of bones in front of him. "Never forget that's the only thing keeping you alive. The only way I can stand this..." He waved his clawed hand at the man lazily. "...horrible affront to my sensibilities."  
  
Ralph retreated a few more steps. So he looked human...big deal. Meant he didn't have to spend his days lurking underground. Made life easier in the long run. But the boss man didn't particularly care for the gentler species. Had a yen to wipe them all out, actually. Hence the job.   
  
"Just remember, this is a seize and capture, not a kill. If my goods are damaged in any way, you'll find out just how bad an idea it is to offend me." A cold grin spread across the creature's face as he heard Ralph almost swallow his tongue.   
  
"What about the Slayer?"  
  
The wooden bench beneath him creaked as the demon shifted his substantial weight; he was growing weary of the inquisition. "Kill her, don't kill her. It makes no difference. Bring me the Key and the Guardian intact, and I may allow you to live."  
  
"Consider it done." Without a thought, he turned on his heel and fled through the sewers, not stopping until he could taste the fresh air on the surface filling his lungs. Ralph hated these audiences with the beast, they always set him on edge. In retrospect, he figured he might have been better off leaving well enough alone. Passing for human had gotten old after the first two centuries, and it was boredom more than a deep-seated desire to bring chaos that had landed him in his current predicament.   
  
"Next time," he mumbled, "I'll take up cards."  
  
  
*****   
  
  
Spike let the book fall from his hands with a resounding thud, a playful smirk gracing his mouth as the watcher jumped. "Isn't there anything else we could be working on, mate? This stuff is so dull I'm starting to feel the need for tweed."  
  
With a heavy sigh, the older man set his own volume on the table softly. "No, there really isn't."  
  
As he pushed away from the table, patting his pockets in search of smokes, Spike countered with a sigh of his own. Then a gleeful grin lit his face when he found the crumpled pack and tapped a cigarette out.  
  
"It all says the same bloody thing, you know. Great warrior. Insurmountable odds. Ends in either death or triumph." Giles stared at him with a mixture of surprise and suspicion. "What? I do know words that require you to string together more than two syllables. The Slayer on the other hand..."  
  
Spike planted the filter between moistened lips and made for the door. "These prophecy blokes need to come up with a different tune. This repetition bit is making me right nauseous." The bell above the door tinkled merrily as he stepped out into the midday sun.  
  
He heard Giles grumble under his breath before returning his attention to the text lying open on the table, "Would it have hurt them terribly to rearrange his disposition?"   
  
Blinking, he shaded his eyes with a cupped hand. Still hadn't quite gotten used to daylight. And so maybe he still had the sensitive ears too...wasn't about to tell them that. Hear some very interesting things when people think you're not listening. A devilish grin spread across his features, leaving a twinkle in his eyes as he studied the glowing tip of his cigarette. Sometimes, he thought, you just have to make your own fun. The chuckle that had formed deep in his chest got caught in Spike's throat as he slumped against the building, his face slipping into an impassive mask.   
  
Fear. He never felt it anymore. Not since that moment on top of the tower. But now it twisted in his stomach, writhing and desperate, driving him near sanity's edge. The visions so terrifying, he could only bear to process brief snippets of them. Tiny flecks of blood standing out on Dawn's neck where sharp claws dug in. Salty moisture on his tongue as he lay helpless and bound. The echo of maniacal laughter as it pounded against his eardrums. The black gaze that pinned him to the ground, and a burst of pulsing green light that filtered through his closed eyelids. He couldn't escape the emotions that washed over him...failure, loss, defeat, and a palpable sense of dread that made his innards quiver.  
  
Then the world came crashing back around him. Only sound at first - cars rushing by, quick footfalls on pavement, the faint rustle of wind between the leaves. When Spike pried his eyes open, he found his forehead crushed against the rough surface of the sidewalk, as if he was bent in supplication. His fingertips had left uneven crimson streaks on the concrete, and he knew he'd been clawing, fighting, trying to free himself from the terror. Rolling himself up to a sitting position, he leaned back against the building and spat the crushed cigarette that still hung between his lips into the gutter. His hands shook as he liberated another smoke from his back pocket, and when the flame from his lighter met the tip of it, he shuddered.   
  
It was times like this he wished he didn't care so much. Hoped that if he sat here long enough it would all just go away. But Spike had always been realistic. He knew it never stopped. Just hadn't known what a burden it would be. At the time, he'd thought himself quite clever...the way he was pushing the Slayer's buttons.   
  
"And the thing about the dance is, you never get to stop. Every day you wake up to the same bloody question that haunts you: 'Is today the day I die?'"  
  
Time hadn't changed the truth laid bare in those words. Love had tied his fate to Buffy and Dawn, and no amount of wishing would make the evil nasties leave his girls alone. So every day he risked his life for them, hoping that he could spare them even the smallest bit of pain, longing for a little sliver of peace in the wreckage. Spike shook off the morbid thoughts and stubbed his cigarette out against the concrete. Moping accomplished nothing, and he knew it. Sooner the Scoobies knew about this, the better.   
  
With a heavy sigh, he rose and pushed open the front door of the shop. He'd never been one to beat around the bush.  
  
"Something's coming."  
  
Spike thought he saw a flicker of guilt pass over Giles' features as he lowered the book to the table, but dismissed it...or tried to, at least until he heard the words.   
  
"I know." The watcher plucked his glasses from their perch on his nose and brought out the handkerchief from his pocket habitually. It was a soothing gesture. Centering.   
  
"What?"   
  
"Buffy...she had a Slayer dream last night."  
  
"And you decided to keep it to yourself until now? Bloody hell, man...I've been working through those useless old books all day. Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"I decided it was best to keep things quiet until we knew whether the threat was real. The last thing we wanted to do was alarm you all unnecessarily."   
  
Spike ran a hand through his already unruly hair as he lowered himself onto the bench. "You'll never learn...the lot of you. When will you get it through your thick skulls that keeping secrets just wastes time." He shook his head. "We all spend most our lives on edge for one reason or another. How much could one more hurt?"  
  
"Perhaps it was a poor choice on my part. But as much as I would love to debate the pros and cons of my decision with you, there's work to be done. I believe whatever vision you had...you did have a vision didn't you?" Spike nodded his assent. "I believe that is all we need in the way of confirmation."   
  
"Right then. Back to the books, I'm guessing?"  
  
"In good time. First I would like you to tell me what you saw...in detail. It could be crucial."  
  
  
*****   
  
  
A soft sound, something like a groan, slipped past her lips as Buffy's body met the ground. Damn him, she thought, always screwing things up...even when he's not trying.   
  
"Very good," she mumbled, taking the proffered arm. With a grunt Buffy allowed herself to be pulled up and she faced her opponent, her student. A sly grin spread across her face. "Now lets see if you can take me when I'm not distracted."   
  
"I'm game," he said. Sean? Or was it Sam? Her classes were getting bigger. Seems the veil of Sunnydale ignorance had lifted enough that people wanted to be able to protect themselves. Sean-Sam was middle-aged and a bit overweight, but there was a great deal of power behind his punches, and the way he carried himself probably led most to believe him an easy target.  
  
Misdirection, underestimation...always formidable allies if you're caught in an alley with a demon. And she should know. Those that didn't recognize her always met quick and dusty ends, primarily because they saw nothing beyond the small frame and the bottle-blond hair. The former demon leaning against the doorframe had never made that mistake. And how did he manage to look so dangerous without the ever-present cigarette dangling from his lips? Buffy scowled at him. All she could do was shake her head when she saw the amusement put a twinkle in his eyes and tiny creases at the corners of his mouth. Deep down, she knew what that look meant. Her little spill would fuel a mock-fest a week or more in the making. With a deep calming breath, she backed a few steps away from her sparring partner, intent on ignoring Spike's presence completely. He was a distraction.   
  
"Whenever you're ready."   
  
Buffy braced herself, bare feet digging into the pliable surface of the mat and waited for...god what is his name...to attack her. With a deep breath, her student advanced on her with small, cautious steps.   
  
Spike grinned. He loved watching her fight. Missed that deadly dance of hers. It was one reason on a very, very long list of why he hated being "one of the good guys." A frown creased his brow when he realized she was holding back. A necessity yes, but no less infuriating. It made her movements clumsy almost. Pulling her punches, slowing her reactions. Making her something less than she was. And when she pressed her knee against the small of her opponent's back, twisting his arm behind him, Spike almost grimaced at the gentleness in her hands.   
  
"Now, what did you do wrong?" Buffy smiled in spite of herself. She had always loved winning. Who doesn't? She released her hold on the supine form and stood to look at the fascinated gazes in her students' eyes. Sean-Sam didn't answer, but rolled onto his back panting from the exertion. Christine, a small slip of a girl clad in a leotard and baggy sweatpants, answered for him.  
  
"He got too caught up in the offense. Left himself wide-open for attack."  
  
"Exactly." She extended her hand to the prone student, helping him to his feet. A glance at the clock told her that class would officially be over in five minutes. "Lets call it a day. See you all on Thursday?"   
  
Chatter filled the room as everyone recovered their gym bags from the far corner, but one voice rose above the others.  
  
"Fancy showing them a real fight, pet?" All movement stilled, and her students whispered to each other, their eyes darting between Spike and Buffy curiously. He had already unlaced his boots and set them aside, and when her eyes found him, he was peeling his T-shirt over his head. Little threads of electricity danced in her blood, as her body responded to the beauty of his.  
  
"Spike, I don't really think..."  
  
A raised eyebrow. That damnable cocky smirk.   
  
"Let's ask them shall we?"  
  
Buffy couldn't tell if the hoots and applause were because her students wanted to see them spar, or if they just wanted more half-naked Spike. Self-defense classes are always largely female, and hers was no exception. Something deep and primal stirred in her gut when she caught a knot of twenty-something girls off to the left leering at him openly.   
  
Mine.  
  
What? No. Not...mine. I. Don't. Care.   
  
Her cheeks flushed and she grinned at Spike across the room.  
  
"Fine. We'll show them a real fight. I'll try not to make you whimper. I know how you hate to look all weak and kitteny in front of people."   
  
He returned her grin and crossed the room with a few long strides, stopping only when he was painfully close to her. Spike always invaded her personal space. Like he thought if he could just get close enough, he could insinuate himself in her heart, under her skin.   
  
A burst of warm breath fluttered against her ear when he whispered into it. "I can think of a few things you could do to make me whimper that wouldn't make me all that upset, love."   
  
That was all it took.   
  
Spike's head snapped back as her fist met his nose, and he laughed...it almost sounded like a giddy giggle. He always knew just how to piss her off, and the thin trail of blood dripping down over his lips brought a surge of nostalgia over her. An ache for the time when things were simple. When he was a demon and she was his executioner. The feelings that had crept in when she wasn't watching were counter to everything she believed about the world, and the blows she rained on his torso were testament to that.   
  
They danced. A swirling, primitive, aching ballet of fists and sweat, blood and bone. And that annoying undercurrent of barely contained desire that always flooded through both of them when they fought. Who knew love and hate could be so closely related? Her distraction earned Buffy a stinging kick to the chin, and she struggled half-heartedly against him when his legs straddled her hips, his hands pinning her arms above her head.   
  
"Check and mate," he murmured quietly. A fine droplet of blood hung on his chin, threatening to spill on her white tank top. Spike lowered his head and placed a teasing kiss on the side of her neck, right over the scar Angel had left. The place she knew instinctively he would have drained her if he were still that badass vampire from her past. To wipe the last shred of his Sire from her body. Humiliating. He was so cock-sure and self-assured. Practically beaming with the knowledge he'd beaten her.   
  
"Off."  
  
His body shook with barely restrained laughter, but Spike made no move to free her. With a venomous smile, she brought her hands forward swiftly, looping them around his neck before he knew what hit him. Buffy hadn't expected so much pain when she head butted him, but then she often forgot he was as hard-headed as she was. He had lost his grip on her wrists when their foreheads collided, and she pressed her palms against his chest insistently.  
  
"I said. Get. Off."   
  
When he didn't budge, Buffy pushed him, sending him sprawling halfway across the mat on his ass. The room was still except for the quiet whir of air-conditioning, and empty besides the two of them. Her students had probably crept out sometime during the fight, and secretly she was glad they hadn't witnessed her defeat. Fuming, she retrieved her towel from the front of the room and wiped the blood and sweat from her body.   
  
"I did have a reason for coming here, you know." Spike's words broke the silence between them.   
  
"Oh, really? Other than to call me out in front of my students? Imagine that." Buffy threw the damp towel in her bag, and took a long swig from her water bottle. She still didn't trust herself to look at him. If she did, she might get lost in how good it felt to have him straddling her.  
  
"Oh right. Because I live to ruin your bloody day, eh pet?"  
  
"Just spit it out, okay. I'm so not in the mood right now."  
  
Spike sighed, one of those heavy, long-suffering deals that he produced only when he was infinitely frustrated with someone.  
  
"I had another sodding vision. Watcher thinks it confirms your dream. He's researching it right now and wants you to come by. Asked me to make sure you would. Now if that's all, I'm late picking Nibblet up at school." He tugged the T-shirt over his head roughly and bent down to tie his boots.   
  
When her hand fell on his shoulder, it was all Spike could do to not bite each of those pretty little fingers clean off - vampire or no. Sometimes she got to him in the worst way.  
  
"Spike...look, I'm sorry for getting bent out of shape. I've had a bad day, and I didn't get any sleep." He looked at her, and saw the exhaustion painted plainly in the dark circles beneath her eyes. If he hadn't been on her side now, he'd be ecstatic...knowing she was so close to breaking. As it was, he was too stung by the way she'd treated him to care much.  
  
"So you thought you'd use me as your personal punching bag?"  
  
"I wasn't the only one doing the punching, now was I?" That irritating shrill tone crept slowly back into her voice as she crossed her arms over her chest.   
  
"Whatever you say, love. I thought it might be fun. Miss seeing you all wild and flushed after a really tough battle. It's been far too long since you faced any real threat. Don't want you to get out of practice. Dangerous business, that."   
  
"Could have picked a better place than my classroom." Buffy knew he was being honest with her. He worried...probably rightfully so. The schedule was getting to her. Teaching and slaying and waking up soaked in sweat with terrifying dreams still burnt on her retina. And everyday fighting herself.   
  
"Yeah, well. I've got to go get the 'Bit. Wouldn't do to let a sixteen-year-old girl walk home in broad daylight, now would it?"  
  
Spike didn't wait for her answer; he just pushed through the door, grumbling as he slid behind the wheel of the DeSoto and gunned the engine. 


	3. Barriers

Disclaimer: Again...I own nothing, except the original characters. I just like to play.  
  
  
  
  
  
"No. No. And once again for those of you who just tuned in...no." The scowl on his face deepened as Xander tossed the clipboard on the kitchen counter and turned to retrieve another beer from the fridge.  
  
"Well, why not? He helps with research and fighting. Besides, everyone must see my beautiful dress." Anya stared at her fiancé. She didn't understand why he was getting so upset about this.  
  
"Spike is not coming to our wedding. End of story."  
  
"Xander Harris, you're being unreasonable. Give me one good reason why we shouldn't invite him. We know him much better than most of the people on the guest list." She flipped through the pages, taking note of the names she'd penciled through and frowned.  
  
Another pull from the bottle helped some, but thoughts of a certain peroxide nuisance were interrupting his enjoyment of the grainy goodness. "This is supposed to be the happiest day of my life. Our lives. I don't want it ruined by Spike...being Spike."  
  
"So I'll make him promise to be on his best behavior." Her face lit up, and she smiled as a brilliant idea came to her. "I'll just tell him that Hallie's invited and that if he acts up I'll be feeling particularly vengeful."  
  
"Ahn, it's not that...although that plan sounds like a lot of fun." Bottle in hand, he retreated to the living room and sank into his favorite chair. Anya followed him closely with the guest list and settled herself in his lap.   
  
"Then what?"  
  
"He's a demon." Xander said it as if it was some grand revelation, that suddenly she would automatically be swayed.  
  
"So?" A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth as she waved the papers in his face. "Have you looked at this at all? There are plenty of demons invited. And if you're going to get technical about it, Spike's not even a demon anymore."  
  
"Yes, and can I tell you how thrilled I'm not that our wedding reception is going to be Demon-palooza. No Spike."  
  
"But Xander..."  
  
"I said, no," he grumbled, pushing her from his lap so he could stand. "Once a demon, always a demon. And if there's one thing I learned about Hellmouth-livin' it's to not trust them, ever."   
  
The empty bottle clanked against others in the wastebasket, making a hollow sound as he dropped it in. Without so much as a word, Anya just turned quietly and disappeared into the bedroom. When he followed her, he found a large suitcase thrown across the bed and his fiancé calmly scooping her substantial lingerie collection out of an open dresser drawer.   
  
"Ahn..."  
  
She didn't even look at him. The stony silence of her turned back was all the response Xander got as she threw open the closet door and started yanking her dresses from their hangers.   
  
"Honey..."  
  
The endearment, that usually earned him one of her sunny smiles, only seemed to enrage her more, and shoes started flying through the air, coming dangerously close to his head. Worry overcame him as he watched her fold every article of clothing she owned and shove it into the bag.   
  
"Baby, talk to me...what's wrong?"  
  
Eyes full of fire, she turned to him, finally losing the shaky hold she had on her anger. When she spoke, the sarcasm in her voice was a tangible thing and every word was pitched higher than the last. "What's wrong, Xander? Oh, I don't know, what could possibly have upset me?" The ex-demon tossed a platform heel at the suitcase as punctuation.  
  
He shifted uncomfortably and leaned against the doorframe studying something incredibly interesting in the carpet fibers. "If I knew, I wouldn't have to ask, now would I?"   
  
"No, I guess you wouldn't know." Anya sat down beside her bag with a heavy sigh and lifted tear-filled eyes to look at him.   
  
"Tell me what I did wrong so we can make it better."  
  
"This is not something you can just wave your arms at and 'poof' it goes away." Her hands rubbed at each other in her lap out of fear and nervousness, and she watched the skin pull and pucker in places it shouldn't for awhile before continuing. "It's who you are."   
  
A worried frown seized Xander's features and he moved to sit beside her on the bed. It was almost imperceptible, the miniscule movement when she scooted away from him, but the implication was still there. Dread, like a cold, unyielding fist, wrapped around his heart and squeezed.   
  
"What do you mean, Ahn?" He couldn't help the tremor in his voice. Give him a room full of mucus-demon things with a taste for human flesh any day. The thought of life without her scared him more than any vile thing he'd ever faced. Being alone sucked, and he wasn't in any hurry to go back there.   
  
"'Once a demon, always a demon' wasn't it? Well, I was a demon Xander. For centuries I maimed, tortured, and generally made bloody messes all over the place. I enjoyed it. Loved it." Anya stared fixedly at the wall, willing him to say something, anything to make it better."  
  
"That's different..."  
  
"No. It's not different. I'm not the exception to some crazy Xander-verse rule. Things don't change just because you love me."   
  
"That has nothing to do with it." He knew he was grasping at the proverbial straw, but was determined to do the right thing. Right thing...yeah, he thought. Xander knew he'd do anything to keep her from leaving, whether it was right or not.  
  
"Would you love me if I was still a vengeance demon?" Anya's pointed question threw him for a loop, and he hesitated a moment before answering.   
  
"That's what I thought," she said before he had uttered a word. Another sigh and the sound of metal on metal as she yanked the zipper on the suitcase closed.   
  
"Goodbye Xander." He knew she probably had no idea where she was going, or what she would do, and that more likely than not she would be back in his arms in under a week's time. Still the finality of those words echoed in his ears like an old tune he'd heard one too many times until he couldn't stand the thought of being left...again.   
  
"Ahn, wait..."  
  
"For what?" The way she stood there, her hands planted firmly on her hips, reminded him of the way Cordelia always used to look at him as if he were related to something small and wriggly.   
  
"Look, I'm sorry. Spike can come to the wedding, whatever. Just...don't do this." He gave her his best puppy dog look. "Please."  
  
"On one condition."   
  
Xander didn't particularly care for the dangerous smile that curved her lips, and again his voice trembled when he spoke.  
  
"Okaaaaayy." Funny how the word gained syllables when you said it that way.  
  
"No more caveman-Xander." Now she was looking at him as if that explained everything. Either he was very stupid, or just out of sync with what passed for logic in Anya's brain. Both were equally possible.   
  
"And that would mean..."   
  
"No more of this, 'human good, demon bad...ugh, ugh' stuff. I was a demon a lot longer than I've been your girlfriend, Xander, and every time you say those things it's like insulting my heritage."  
  
"Not exactly the kind of lineage I'd be proud of."  
  
Swiftly, she grabbed the handle on the suitcase and pulled it off the bed, almost toppling under its weight.   
  
"See, that's exactly what I mean." Without a second glance at him, Anya began dragging the heavy bag towards the front door of the apartment.  
  
"Ahn..." She wasn't listening. "Ahn!"  
  
"What?" she snapped.   
  
"I'll try, okay. You can't expect me to turn around a good six years of demon jibes in a split second." From where he sat on the bed, Xander looked up at her, the pain evident on his face. "I can't lose you."   
  
"And..."  
  
"Spike can come to the wedding."  
  
"And..."  
  
"What? What else?"  
  
The look she gave him was condescending and threatening at the same time, and he wondered offhandedly how she managed it.  
  
"Okay. No more cracks about anybody's blood-encrusted past. Yours..." He gritted his teeth as he said it, "Or Spike's. Happy now?"  
  
"Yes." The way she giggled, if he hadn't known she was furious ten seconds earlier, Xander would have sworn they had just been choosing napkin colors for the sixth time.   
  
"Now we have loud, sweaty make-up sex."  
  
"Sounds like a plan."  
  
  
*****   
  
  
  
"Dawn, you ready?" Spike smiled in spite of himself. It always amused him how vehement the girl was about being treated like an adult, especially when she did things like this. Since it didn't seem like she'd heard him, he leaned back against the wall, fished the fags out of his pocket, and settled in to wait.   
  
"I did hear you, you know." She continued her journey, hopping gracefully from one foot to the other. "You're late by the way." With uncharacteristic grace, Dawn bent down to pick up the rock at her feet, hopped down to the end of the chalk outline, and raised her arms in a victorious gesture that made him think she'd just claimed America for the English.   
  
Not two days ago, he'd been favoring the girl with lectures about her "come-hither" looks, and now here she was playing bloody hopscotch. Only Dawn. Spike ground his cigarette out against the brick as she collected her bag and started off in the direction of the car.   
  
Lagging back a few paces in silence, he started as a familiar chill rose on the back of his neck. The one that screamed "Danger!" The one that might have sent his heart racing if it still beat. He would have snarled, but it just didn't sound as threatening anymore.  
  
"Dawn!"   
  
Puzzled, she spun around to face him. "What now?" Something was up, she could tell by the way his body tensed...the way he didn't meet her gaze when he answered.   
  
Spike tugged the car keys out of his pants pocket and tossed them to her, his eyes still scanning their surroundings. "Get in the car, lock the doors, and stay there - no matter what. I'll be over in a couple minutes."   
  
"But..."  
  
"Bloody hell. Don't argue, just go." His 'stern voice' was much more convincing than Buffy's, and there was also the added fact he never used it unless something really was wrong. Unlike her sister...Buffy used it when she left a glob of toothpaste in the sink. "Summers women," he grumbled, but breathed a sigh of relief as he saw Dawn trotting off towards the DeSoto.   
  
From where he stood looking out a window on the second floor, Ralph smiled. He had always loved a challenge, and if the Guardian could feel the threat he posed, this would definitely be one.  
  
The guy looked frantic. Finally, it seemed, the Key's keeper had convinced himself that nothing would coming flying out of the bushes when he turned his back, and stalked off towards the parking lot. Hmmm, Ralph thought, that car's a classic. Not many of those around anymore. Made his job that much easier.  
  
Humming quietly, the demon slipped the headphones back over his ears and wrung the soggy mop out in his bucket. So far, so good. Nice thing about Hellmouths, they go through janitors like nobody's business. And when he'd applied, they were so desperate to replace the last one, who had rather conveniently disappeared, he didn't even have to invent a plausible work history. Half an hour later, they handed him coveralls and a broom.   
  
People could be so blind.  
  
  
*****   
  
  
There was something she needed to do, she could feel it in her bones...but that didn't help her place it. Something. Her heeled boots ground against the grit and cement beneath her as Buffy crossed the room and settled in the battered green chair with a sigh. Of all places, Spike's crypt. Logically she knew he didn't even live here anymore, but every cell in her body told her this is where she needed to be.   
  
Shadows flickered across her face, the muted television emitting a soft blue glow. Funny, she hadn't noticed it was on when she came in. Every now and then a familiar image flashed across the screen, but she would have sworn she imagined it. Each time the picture shifted back to meaningless snow before Buffy could make any sense of what was there. In the dim light, she caught a flash of something metallic lying atop the sarcophagus and a frown creased her brow. Curious, she pushed herself up out of the chair intent on getting a closer look. The coin. This she remembered. Odd that it would be warm, she thought, turning it over in her palm almost reverently.   
  
"Buffy!!!!"  
  
Something that shrill could only be Dawn, and she spun around, searching the near-darkness for her sister.   
  
"Dawnie?"  
  
"Buffy, please! Help me!"   
  
The shriek was more insistent this time, but Buffy couldn't find the girl anywhere. Finally she spared a glance at Spike's ancient television. She could see things moving, behind the fuzzy reception.   
  
This time it was his voice that rose through the still air, and his image that danced across the screen.   
  
"Dawn, no. God, no...don't..."   
  
"Spike! Dawn! What's going on?"   
  
Frantic, Buffy reached her hand out as if to touch the screen and the curtain of snow fell again. She started as electricity zinged through her fingertips and up her arm. No glass where glass should be. Screams ripped from the speakers, loud enough to burst her eardrums, and Buffy steeled herself against the pain, pushing her arm through the television all the way up to the shoulder.   
  
Suddenly, she was thrown against the opposite wall of the crypt by some unseen force. Gasping, Buffy cradled the injured arm against her chest, trying valiantly to ignore the charred, mangled flesh.   
  
"Tsk, tsk, little girl. Always being naughty." The screaming had stopped, and the screen was black, save for a pair of dark, unblinking eyes that stared out at her accusingly.   
  
"You can't stop this."  
  
Buffy managed to find the strength for a snort and chuckle, "Everyone keeps telling me that. Hasn't worked yet."   
  
Her vision blurred, and she actually felt herself slipping into unconsciousness. The last thing she heard before the world turned black was laughter and that taunting voice.   
  
"Foolish child. Get in my way, you all die." 


End file.
